Fantastical Adventure- Story of the Druid Guardian
by Endearth
Summary: A young druid abandons all but his beliefs, and pursues something larger in life: the position of the Druid Guardian. *Chap 2 rdy!*
1. 1

FA-0

Fantastical Adventure (FA)- Story of the Druid Guardian

By Keatonsybond@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: Diablo 2 and its characters belong to Blizzard. But I can easily take out some parts, and it won't have anything to do with anyone, because the druid belongs to no one (I think).

Prologue

Some few years after the fall of Baal, Lord of Destruction…

Visitors from all parts of the land gathered at the Rogue Encampment. Only it wasn't the same old encampment anymore, it was more of a _fortress_. After the fall of the Prime Evils, the Rogues had much time to recover, and to rebuild their home. Now, towering stonewalls replaced the previous wooden fences; beautiful stone tiles replaced the mushy wet ground. There was now a proper entrance, lined with (wo)manned towers that see the approaching enemy, large bright red flags that scream pride and roar power with each flap in the wind, and most impressively, a giant steel gate that open and close with monstrous clanking sounds.

The place grew, but the traffic grew even more. Quiet soggy nights spent at Akara's (for she was the closest thing to a tavern- she kindly attempted to brew potions that had some sort of alcoholic taste, but the failing result turned out to have the same use as a thawing potion, which has no use whatsoever) turned into hearty hours of laughter and chatter at the new bar. The constantly cramped place, owned by a fellow named Geglash, was called 'The Fallen Stools'.

Outside those doors was a quiet, cool night, undisturbed by the madness in the barroom. Here were mostly warriors, adventurous and ready to hunt for remaining hidden rewards first thing in the morning. But they remained quiet and thoughtful, only using speech when necessary, like when dealing with the local blacksmith and the greedy caravan tradesman.

Around a warm campfire sat a couple of these warriors, preparing their weapons, counting their gold, talking quietly, or just enjoying the warmth.

The comfortable silence was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a tall man in dark green robes. Emerging from the shadows, his face safely covered by his hood, he scanned the three long logs for a vacant seat. Finding none, he took his place on a bulky rock close to the fire.

There was an abrupt silence. All the quiet chattering stopped; all hands were still for a moment- the warriors' eyes scanned the new figure up and down a few times, but everything was hidden under the robes. Even the usually quiet and uncaring necromancers looked up. For a moment, people thought another necromancer had joined them, but after a few seconds of careful sniffing, no hint of decaying flesh or any other usual necromancer stenches were found. No weapons were visible outside the cloak, where they were usually kept for easy access.

A small-sized Barbarian finally spoke up. "The fireplace is for warriors at this hour. Do us a favour and kindly take your leave," he said in a rather high-pitched and sarcastic tone. "Oh, here is a bronze coin for your Knight's Ale, a drink suited for your kind of people." With a snicker, he flipped him the coin, hoping to make him leave if he was just some old beggar, or if he was a warrior, see the colour of his skin when his hand caught it. (Note: Knight's Ale is a drink for old alcoholics who couldn't afford a proper drink. It is brewed from street rats, and is given a fancy name to attract drunks.)

The man himself was the only one to laugh at the play of words; the other warriors only watched nervously. Knowing his trick, the man made no effort to catch the coin. As a result, it bounced softly off his knee and into the big fire. The Barbarian didn't even flinch. What use does a bronze have anyway?

"Oh I'm a warrior," he said calmly, with no hint of anger. He slowly removed his hood, finally satisfying the crowd's curiousity. The stranger was a male in his early thirties, which was surprising, as mostly young warriors (with the exception of old necromancers) sought for action and adventure here.

He had short, light blonde hair, which reminded many of the folks around him of eagles. He bore a handsome, experienced face, unshaven for many days. Small eyes of cold, icy blue contrasted his pale face. When he was young, he might have been a lady-killer. But now his face was rough from travelling, and the few light scars proved he was indeed a warrior.

The female warriors, even the assassins, admired his face. The males, however, were more interested in the piece of jewellery around his neck. With no hood to hide it, it laid against the stranger's chest firmly. The fire lit it only dimly under the "V" of his cloak, but the limited view was enough to amaze. Its design was heavenly, unlike any amulets they had seen before. Its quality was far finer than anything made in Lut Gholein.

Noticing the deadly attention on his necklace, he offered his soft laugh again. It seemed he was proud and had nothing to hide, for he reached under his cloak and pulled out the big piece of pale gold. It seemed heavy in his hands. He juggled it a few times, and their eyes moved up and down with it. The gentle jingle of the chains brought the females out of their trance, and they saw the amulet for the first time. They were equally amazed, if not more.

"A gift from the heavens," he agreed with a laugh. It was funny because it was true.

"Where did you get it?" a young Druid asked. Not '_who are you?'_ but '_where did you get it?'._ Their original intentions were quickly swept away by this strange ornament. 

The other young Druid beside him demanded quickly and harshly why he had just asked that. But the truth was he also wanted to know- they all desperately wanted to know, but they had already grown cautious of this stranger.

"In Túr Dúlra, city of Túr Dúlra," he said with a distracted smile, tilting the amulet slowly for the best reflection of light. The eyes of his fellow warriors grew enormously big as they discovered something else on the prized amulet: a single blue bulb of jewel. It was much more beautiful than any 'perfect' sapphires in the world.

More importantly however, it was _alive_. There seemed to be things moving inside the jewel. As they all leaned closer, the stranger quickly seized it with his whole hand, blocking off any greedy eyes. The act was so quick that they all jumped back, snapping back to their old selves, and then realizing what they were just doing. 

_This crowd is so easy._

Total attraction shrank back to curiousity, but they were still drawn to that amulet. Instead of putting it back through his collar, he lifted it off his neck and held it in his lap for a moment. The people around him shot short glances at it this time, afraid that their minds would somehow become slaves of the amulet if they looked at it too long.

The older of the two Druids who sat directly across from the stranger was able to keep up his guard. Although his eyes often wandered on that piece of mystery, they always returned to the man's face. He observed that the amulet wasn't just any magical charm that gave normal bonuses to the wearer. The moment he took it off, the colour of his face didn't drain to indicate that it had any health bonuses, the energies around him didn't fade to suggest a loss in spiritual self, his eyes didn't grow dimmer to show a weakening of eyesight, etc. In his mind, he concluded that it was an instrument of much greater caliber.

What this young warrior had in might made up for what he had in awareness. It was his less mature companion who actually paid attention to what the stranger said.

"Túr Dúlra?! You mean the legendary Druid College Túr Dúlra?! Where the oak of oaks Glór-an-Fháidha is situated? Me and my friends have been trying to get in that college, but the seats always go to the locals!" he burst out in one breath. "I have always wanted to see the forests of Túr Dúlra! Is it beautiful like in the books? Do they grow strange fruits and trees there? Do they live amongst exotic animals?"

"Túr Dúlra must be a beautiful place," the other Druid quickly agreed, trying to contain his excitement. "I've seen wonderful paintings of it."

The others were focused on the amulet on his lap but many of them were intrigued by this seemingly perfect paradise. The stranger finally took the thing off his lap, and gestured it to the sorceress that sat closest to him. She gasped and slowly replaced his hold on the chains.

To this he smiled. "Let us pass this around, if you are all interested in it." Then he returned his focus to the Druids. "Yes, it is a beautiful land." This they already knew, but their hearts leapt as if every pretty detail of Túr Dúlra had been described to them. They let themselves drift off to a Túr Dúlra built with the rumours they heard, paintings they saw, and solutions to their troubles in life.

The stranger then slapped his hands on his laps and let out a sign. Everyone looked up, as if they were now under his command.

"If you are so intrigued by Túr Dúlra, I think I have a story that would do well to satisfy your curiousity," he began. And in attempt to add more excitement, he included, "and it is also the tale about how I got that piece of jewellery," as if something that would reveal more about himself wasn't enough.

"Would you like to hear it?" he asked around. In their hearts they were screaming yes, but they all kept back, hoping for someone else to say it for them. "The night is still young, and the fire is well and growing. There is nothing better than a campfire story on a starry night."

"Yes! Please tell!" a young Amazon yelped out. Realizing everyone else was silent, she looked around and blushed.

Another sudden outburst came, this time from the younger Druid. "Wait a minute! Túr Dúlra is the capital of the Druids! It is safely hidden, and well guarded! And outsiders have a hard time of surviving. So please tell how you acquired that strange ornament of yours and still stand breathing before us!"

"But I am no outsider…" he said. Many brows shot up. Seconds later, they themselves shot up in their seats as the dark green cloak covering him slowly morphed into dark lush leaves, which then was carried away in a sudden, amazingly strong gush of wind.

"I think we should drop all secrets now; secrets ruin stories, in my opinion." He smiled. This time it was a sincere smile. "Even if you don't want to listen, I need to tell. I think telling this tale to a live audience is better than telling it to a flower."

"And I don't think I will get another relaxed word out of you all tonight. So, if you don't want to listen, leave the fire, there is warmth in the tavern if you really need it." No one budged, and he smiled again. It was a smile to die for. "Alright, I am Byrshk, son of Ywvck, and Druid of the sky. I believe we've been well met. Here is my tale." He put one palm on the front of his neck, and bowed.

(Author's thang: I admit this was a slow beginning, with VERY/too much detail. But it just sets up for the fun later. I see a very glorious and exciting adventure ahead. Just to keep you excited, there will be Druids competing against each other in different animal forms in a tournament, creating a sort of "pokemon battle" feeling.

_ _

_And I won't purposely ask for reviews, because I know if you liked the story, you will feel the urge to review. But no reviews is no fun, so basically I've said nothing! Next chapter will come if I get enough feedback!)_


	2. 2

Chapter One

Chapter One

(_Author's Thang: Dear readers! It has been a long time! I'm sure many of you have already forgotten about Byrshk and his cool blue eyes. I do apologize for keeping you waiting. _

I was hoping on releasing this right after the site went back up. But if you briefly scroll down, I've wrote myself quite a lot! And I didn't want to release some of it, cuz some people would get bored easily over the story advancements.

Well not a lot of action, but a lot of words…. Btw, I just finished Mr Stephen King's _On Writing book, so tell me if you think I've improved! Tell me if it was worth my 15 dollars! Hahaha, just kidding, anything by Stephen King is worth my money. ;-)_

And tell me to keep going and what you thought about the tale so far. Cuz that's what makes me write. _To impress and inspire. )_

******

Byrshk the Druid slowly turned to the dazed sorceress to whom he passed his amulet. "I would like everyone to have a feel of it before I'm done my story," he said, quietly studying her.

Her eyes were fixed there, as if ignoring him, watching something mysteriously interesting in the piece of jewel. Her face was filled with a magnificent blue glow, and her small hands cupped it securely, afraid to let it go.

She continued to stare at it for a moment, while a few others watched her anxiously. But then she came to, and blushed. She hesitantly passed it on to the small-sized Barbarian next to her, who took it confidently, perhaps thinking he was too strong for its entrancing beauty. The Druid smiled, and cleared his throat.

******

A boy sat on top of a tall tree branch, eating an apple and half-watching some of his friends play kickball. He was deep in thought, and those sounds of the wind rustling the leaves, feet batting against the hard hollow ball of branches, and excited voices exclaiming when the ball hit home, seemed very distant.

His thoughts dwelt upon his father. They were dark, confused and angry thoughts. A quiet breeze surrounded him, but inside his head was a fierce storm. His chest felt heavy with hopelessness, and every breath was an effort. He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he cried for help. But the consequences of that... it just made him feel more trapped.

His father shocked, confused and scared him a great deal, even though they were almost always together. The closer he got to the age of sixteen, the more evident this fearsome part of him grew. The closer he got to the Age of Becoming, the harsher, blunter, and more stubborn his father became.

"What's the matter, my dear Byrshk?! Your anger radiates through the air and ripples like a strong wind! I'm sorry to have interrupted you, but my fellow friends and I were actually enjoying our rest!"

"I'm not angry," he replied emotionlessly. Trunks, who had talked with him for a thousand times now, knew something was terribly wrong, despite of his casual tone. Something was always wrong when young Byrshk sat here. He knew it was his favourite spot to sit in when he needed some quiet. Out of all the trees, he came back to this one time and time again.

And Trunks knew he not only provided a good sitting spot that nobody knew about, as well as a high and well-shaded place that gave a good view of the forest and of Byrshk's home, they enjoyed each other's company. He liked having him here. A tree, especially one as young as him, often thrived for more action than the worms on his leaves could provide. But he often worried for his companion.

"Then what-", Trunks began, but was quickly interrupted by the boy.

"Shh! He has a visitor!" A tall man, dressed in unfamiliar and strange clothes, was walking along the trail which led to his house. He slowly climbed the stone steps and knocked softly on the wooden door. He waited without movement, head down and not interested in the things around him. The vines on the steps made no hostile movement against this stranger, to the boy's curiosity. A few moments later, a woman showed him inside.

From his observations, the boy knew he was not a Druid. But, his father often had visitors from other lands, so it didn't surprise him. The boy, however, somehow found out (a gut feeling?) that this man was not good news.

He heard soft mumbling moments later. He tried to climb higher, careful to keep his head in the bush of leaves, but he still couldn't make out what they were saying. Suddenly, there was a load thud, probably his father banging the table, and then followed by a trail of high-pitched mumbles, which he knew was his mother trying to keep everything under control. But he also knew his mother was next to useless in terms of power. Now, his heart was beating quickly, and Trunks, too, felt very nervous.

He waited, and then the visitor emerged from the door and left quietly, showing no signs of anger or depression. He followed the path to their neighbours, walking quickly and with his head down like before.

******

"Oh, Glór-an-Fháidha the Great, the Wise, and the flourishing father of the Túr Dúlra forest!" he began. As the eldest of them all, he was lawfully responsible for doing these ceremonial introductions, which he personally thought pointless and time-consuming. He was also the only one calm enough to remember the consequences of not following customs. They didn't mean anything to him, except that he wouldn't get spanked in the public or some other humiliating event. And the others…they were far too busy hitting each other, laughing wildly… just being children.

"Please tell us a tale of far away lands! Of thrilling adventures! Of brave heroes who have fought through magnificent quests, and conquered bold kingdoms!"

"A natural soul is a happy soul. My child, you do not have to do the informalities if it is not your true desire! Be true, I do not mind it at all. In fact, I admire it," the tree echoed back. It was a grand voice, and it thundered through the entire forest. Yet, not even a leaf shook, and not a sound was made- it would have been fascinating to outsiders.

The boy sighed with relief. "Of course!" he agreed with good-nature. He smiled and laid down comfortably on the long grass. After a while, he lifted his head, and whined, "C'mon guys! Don't you want to hear the story! Come sit down!"

The other children finished up their games, and jumped down to their seats. They waited politely, smiling and staring up at their overwhelming oak sage that dominated the Western part of the forest.

They were actually quite far away from it. But this was officially the place to talk with their deity, without having to constantly keep your head so high to cause discomfort on the neck (as meetings here were often long, but exhilarating and educational to the eager mind).

Where these children now sat in the cool afternoon… was the official Site of Summoning, if you like, where long, lush grass flourished, as if nurtured by the oak; as if the oak's wisdom and life flowed through its roots and into the ground around it.

Where these children now sat in the cool afternoon…was where children and men alike had to introduce themselves, respectfully declare their purpose for summoning the great oak's spirit, and thank it with the biggest words they knew. It was all in the books, written by the first of the Druids and to be followed by the last.

Where these children now sat in the cool afternoon… was a sacred site where the great oak sage Glór-an-Fháidha stood high in the sky, and watched over the Druid cities grow on this green hilly grassland that dominated the land west of the central city. The very oak who watched the first of the stone cities turn into a forest kingdom of towers and hollow tree lodges.

Sure, it gave generous advice whenever the men sought for it. It shared with them its deep pool of knowledge unquestioningly. The oak thought man would differ from most animals with their intellect, that they would work together, love each other and flourish as the rulers of the jungle, and eventually, protectors of their realm. But as their civilization advanced slowly, the oak's hopes and dreams for its favourite specie fell in dismay. In a way, the oak foresaw this turn of events.

As time flows softly, things change, little by little. Knowing well that it could do nothing to help, the oak watched sadly. As time flows softly, things change, mostly for the worse.

"As time flows softly, my dear children, things change, little by little…. Your _wise_ oak sage is unsure of what to do." He laughs softly and sighs.

"Can you start yet?" a kid said.

"Yeah, let's go…" another whined. There was a moment of silence; the oak stood still. But they were innocent and only children- they grew impatient, instead of cautious.

Behind the great oak, the long grass rustled. The children cocked their heads.

"What was that?"

"Yeah! What was that, Matté?!" they asked the eldest child.

"I think it was something moving back there. But I don't know what…"

"It was too big to be a rabbit…"

"Right…"

"Was it a lion? A snake? Is it gonna to eat us, Matté?!"

"Don't be silly!" He bopped him on the head. "It wouldn't dare _touch_ us. Our fathers would hunt them down if they did! You know that! And besides, Glór-an-Fháidha is right there in front of-"

There was an abrupt silence as Matt stopped mid-sentence. A bird chirped in the distance. The kids stared at Matté, trying to hear what he just heard, but could only hear their own hearts pounding softly.

"What-"

"Shhh!!!" he whispered. Another moment of idleness. He stood straight from his crouching position and his eyes smiled of confidence, but also with a hint of irritation.

"Oh great guardian," he began with sarcasm, "you wouldn't be hiding anything from us, would you?"

The oak said nothing.

"Perhaps you forgot, but let me remind you! _Only Druids of High Status, __and their sons, are allowed in Western Grasslands area, also known as the home of the Forest Deities! That __excludes poor, dirty children!"_

"Matté! Children are children," the Great Deity explained with patience. They have the need for entertainment just as you! Why must you differ-"

"I don't care!" he screamed back. The other children gasped. "I don't want ugly, filthy children near me! Mother told me they have really bad diseases! Get them away or I will scream for papa!"

There were several rustles in the grass, each fading off and away from the direction of the children. Matté's horrified face quickly melted into a smile of success as he dropped his act. There was time, not too long ago, when a child could have been slapped and forced to kneel for a day or two for doing something like Matté had just done.

But times have changed. Now, the House in power would have just shrugged, gave a quick "rules are rules" explanation, and dismiss the case without much interest.

"Now that everything is settled, where were we?" Matté said in a sincere voice, and gave a wide smile.

******

He finally decided to do it. It didn't feel right. It was all black and messy inside.

He entered the room, easing a hanging vine out of the way. He stepped onto that very tile for the hundredth time since he was a baby, but felt awkward to his surroundings.

"What is it, boy?" his father cut in roughly. He was preparing his catch for the dinner table. (The sight seemed ironic to him, and perhaps even funny in another situation, since he was too masculine to be doing what his mother usually did.)

His father was sensitive to his feelings, as he was to his. So, he decided to come right to it. He didn't know of any other way, anyway.

"Father," he began, and let out a sigh. He looked up, watching the high ceiling. A cluster of vegetation was wrapped around the wooden planks which supported the roof. They stared mutely at him, seemingly dead like the material used to build the house, but he knew they were watching him, perhaps afraid for him. "I've decided not to join the House of the Wolves."

Not_ I don't want to, but __I've decided not to. Ever since he was a child, his father called all the shots, his father made all his decisions for him._

The phrase felt awkward, but so natural at the same time. _Free at last!_

His father stopped his knife. Byrshk expected him to yell, but he remained silent. He turned around slowly, blinked once, still holding the knife loosely in his hand.

"What did you say?"

He repeated exactly what he said, with the exact tone, glancing at the knife a several times. _You broke it to him at just the right time and place, a voice said inside him, and smirked._

He knew that did it; it was the sort of thing that got his father off. He knew, instead, he should have apologized deeply and excused himself when his father gave him a second chance. But he was too tired to care for these things now.

Byrshk dropped just quickly enough for the meat knife to miss his head. He thanked the Forest Deities that he was not too lost in deep thought.

The blade spun furiously, creating a round circular object that could, because of its sheer weight, slice through anything like butter. Byrshk heard it zoom past his ear, turned and swiped at it- like the motion of an eagle taking a fish out of the water- and sprung his hand back in a wiping motion. Standing up fully now, the boy gripped the wooden handle in front of him, and stared at his father with wide eyes.

Ywyck stared back at his son with deadly eyes, neither surprised at himself nor at his son's feat (after all, he taught him to do it).

Now, Byrshk's expression of surprise has turned into something like arrogance, only it wasn't a look of surprise in begin with. His eyes shot open because it was merely a sign of caution. His father's abrupt action, in fact, surprised him little. _He just happened to have a knife in his hand, that's all. If it had been a fruit, he would have thrown it all the same, and I would have caught it. He knew his father would never hurt him without a reason, or cause him a wound as serious as that. After all, who would destroy his own lifelong work?_

Without leaving his father's eyes, he stumped the knife on the wooden beam where it should have landed. He then held his hands out low in a semi-ready stance.

His father, as if taking his queue, wiped his hands slowly on his deer-skin shirt, studying his son. Then, he too took up a stance for himself.

"It shows. You were born a Barbarian," he said with the same kind of arrogance in his face. Inside, he smirked to himself, and thought how funny the situation was. His father was usually the talking one, teaching his goddamn lessons. And he always kept quiet, following the orders without question, partly because his father demanded it, and partly because it was his own nature.

Now he seemed to take charge of the things here. He wiped the thoughts of the consequences away- the doubts would only slow him down or confuse him to make the wrong choices. It was too late to turn back now.

There was hot tension in the room. The vines curled up against the wooden beams closely. His heart pounded mercilessly against his chest, and he knew he had no chances against his father in a real fight. But he could escape, that is, if his father still had those thick human legs when he passed through the door. He knew he could outrun him normally. And he didn't think his father was going to use It, because it wasn't his style to show a bit of compassion, chasing after anyone. At least, he hoped not.

"We Druids don't need a leader who can't even control himself!" Byrshk tempted again. _Oh no! a part of him thought. This part was afraid, thinking of the punishments to come, and holding him back and telling him to stop at once. But another voice inside him whispered in excitement, __It rolled out of my tongue, just like that. It was the stronger part, and it knew he could no longer step in this household, (which many wished to enter, because of the size and mainly because they wished to actually meet the master of the house in person) or receive any punishments. __Free at last! it cried._

"I can no longer stand the sight of you and your members of the House!" he continued, with a hateful tone now. "I thought our Guardian and Leader was supposed to be a warm man, defending the innocent and always coming to their needs! You know, at first I looked up to you with pride! I was always proud to admit who my father was. Now…all I see a crude man who abuses his power, doesn't do his duty properly, and harasses the weak just to impress his friends! You… excuse of a Druid Guardian…Ywyck!"

Ever since he was a child, Byrshk had been forbidden to address his father by his first name. He never understood it; it was neither in Druid culture nor… in any culture, really. It was always father, or da, with the exception of when he was alone in the Western Plains, right after a beating or another public prank pulled by his father and his savage House members. Then it would be "Fucking Ywyck", or "Ywyck that piece of heartless shit". He, unlike his father, had more self control and never let _those slip in his presence._

But now, plain "Ywyck" was really just enough. With a "why you…" through his clamped teeth, Ywyck lunged forward like a towering fortress and drove his fist at his own son. Byrshk, who had his guard up from day one, used the hard of his forearm to push the attack away. But the hand was as thick as a log, and he was surprised to find that he could only budge it slightly. Previously aimed for the chest, the shot rammed into the boy's shoulder, making an audible crack in the socket.

Ywyck, following his animal instincts, totally forgot it was his son who he was dealing with here. He stepped forward for a left, which this time, Byrshk crossed both his hands to block. With tremendous effort, he managed to push the lumbering arm away. Knowing he couldn't stay defensive forever, he dropped his right hand below his waist, formed a fist with it, pushed his other arm into a defensive position in front of his head and leaped forward, preparing for an uppercut to the chin, and hopefully a knock that would keep his father dazed long enough for his escape. Nothing real damaging, of course, his father was a tower of muscle, standing almost two feet above him, and he had muscle everywhere, including his chin. It was his job, to stay strong and protect the Druids.

As Byrshk made his move, his mind was filled with coldness. While his body battled instinctively, his mind planned out the strategy. And during this time, a voice inside him, like some sort of battle calculator, reported that his father (in this form, that was) had power and endurance, while he had grace and agility. Over and over this mechanical voice told him, while he made his move: _he has power and endurance, you have grace and agility… he has power and endurance, you have grace and agility…he has power and endurance, you have grace and agility… he has power and endurance-_

_And experience. Fifteen fucking years of it, from fighting Rogue Bandits, Demons, and pirates from God knows where._

_You have-_

_Nothing but an inexperienced, soft heart that will get you nowhere but hell on the battlefield. You will lose because you are (too full of the human milk of kindness?) too pathetic to hurt anything._

Ywyck's long, giant arms hammered into Byrshk square in the chest, sending him flying back before he had a chance to touch anything. Now on the ground, and gasping for air, Byrshk looked up at his da, thoughts squirming madly inside his head. One hand supporting his weight on the ground, the other on his chest (though it didn't hurt as much as it would seem, for his father's hit was not intended as really damaging), he tried hard to focus. 

_The fight is lost, Byrshk. __Just get ready for the spanking/whipping of a lifetime. Or perhaps it wouldn't be spanking or whipping. Perhaps it would be a full public beating._

_No!__The battle isn't lost until your opponent has fell, another voice told him. Ironically, he recognized it to be the voice of his father, his teacher. He found that his lessons usually returned to him at around these times. To think back, he actually enjoyed his father during his lessons. Sure, there were often bleeding noses and ears if he didn't do satisfactory, but these were times when his father was calm and thoughtful. In addition, the setting would usually be beautiful, with a cool breeze from the sea, or an endless sight of vast greens, without a hint of corruption that is civilization._

"Stay down, fool! Stay down and this pointless fight will go on no further! I don't want to cause you any permanent damage, but I will do whatever it takes!"

There was a moment of idleness (for calculations?). Byrshk ignored this proposal and gave no reply. He now stood crouched down, studying his father as he moved slowly towards him. He had already assumed that he had given up, and had a kind, "let's talk this over" expression on his face, with his hands out, preparing to embrace his hurt son.

_Let's talk this over, my ass. Byrshk knew his father never talked anything over, as this bad imitation implied. And his embracing hands were every bit as fake as a woman's penis._

Byrshk suddenly realised something. _Now was his chance! His only one, perhaps! He knew it was a cheap thing to do, perhaps even dishonourable, but his father always told him to do whatever it takes to win. And he wasn't prepared to lose this time._

Learning that his hands were too short to conduct any successful attacks, he leaped up from his crouching position, and saw his father thrust his massive palm forward in attempt to knock him back down. Luckily, he just happened to jump high enough to avoid the attack. 

_Step one- O.K.!_

Instinctively, he kicked on leg up, deliberately missing his target's head, pulled down and locked his father's arm in between the fold of his leg. Then he raised his leg, twirled his hip with the speed of an animal, and connected the hardness of his foot to his target's left ear, all with a predator's grace.

_Step two- Perfect!_

_The ear's the place of balance, his teacher reminded him in a calm, matter-of-fact tone._

_I know, that's why he is on the ground like he should be, Byrshk thought with frightening coldness as he stood there, sadly looking down at his father. With that, he bolted through the door, slung on his backpack with one swooping hand, which he packed earlier and left on the doorsteps in preparation. Distantly, he heard Trunks, his favourite and only real (tree) friend, telling him to visit often. He thought he also heard the other trees and small animals gasp, but he paid them no attention._

There he kept running (and occasionally jumping or swinging from tree to tree), unsure of his destination. He never really looked back, but a passing thought about the possibility of his father chasing after him did occur. However, he thought he didn't hear any wolf growls.

_I should be fine then, he told himself._


End file.
